When Darkness Falls
by Shelbecat
Summary: Ryan examines his relationship with darkness.


**When Darkness Falls**

I always thought darkness was alive.  Breathing, moving, wriggling around and about like a living blanket.  How could it not be?  How could one thing have so many different interpretations by so many different people and not be a living, tangible being.

To Trey it was time to play, darkness meant bravery, meant risk, meant a solid cover under which to carry out whichever crime was most convenient.

To Seth it was comfort, darkness meant alone, meant quiet, meant his brain could finally rest.

To me it was danger, darkness meant fear, meant crying, meant hiding in a corner until the rest of the world was sleeping and it was safe, finally, to close my eyes.

As I sat in the pool house and let the night seep in through the windows, I thought about what darkness meant to me.  I had always feared it, something I fought hard to hide, but tonight the fear felt different, almost important.  It was hard to imagine the pool house of luxury matching the darkness of the rundown house of trash I'd called home just a few months ago.  But somehow, in some odd way I hadn't yet even begun to make sense of, this darkness was heavier than all the darkness before, like it was weighted, thick with the chance of possibility just waiting to evaporate before my very eyes.

It was the weight, I suspect, that kept me pinned to my seat.

Hunched forward, hands clasped between my knees, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the shadows dancing in the kitchen.  There were three, I thought, it was hard to tell from this distance, but I knew that Seth would be one of them, relaying the tale of the afternoon I'd spent in Dr. Kim's office while she tried, repeatedly to contact his parents.  She didn't need to speak to them, Seth would exaggerate well enough for five Dr. Kim's and by the time they learned the school-gossip version of what had happened, the decision about where I would be spending the next six months would be simple.

The truth really didn't matter.

I'd tried to tell them, at least it felt like I was trying.  My sense of defense was warped after years of disbelief by everyone I looked up to.  Still, some small part of me hoped that they would give me a chance to tell my side, and actually listen, maybe even believe that I wasn't totally unjustified in rearranging Oliver's face.  He deserved it, after all, he'd come up to me and said that Marissa belonged with him, that was reason enough to hit him, right?

Who the hell was I kidding?  Oliver knew just as well as I did that he'd tried to steal Marissa away but it was me who finally gave him the key to her devotion.  Breaking in, stealing, lying to her…all things she wasn't accustomed to seeing in a Newport Beach-boyfriend and as I thought about the fact that I truly had no one to blame but myself for arriving here, I realized I could never fit the mold she advertised.

Hell, I could never be Newport Beach-anything.

Pushing my hands into fists on my knees, I sprung upwards and threw myself across the room.  This might be the picture-perfect vision of a new life far away from Chino but there were still things here that belonged in my old world, objects and memories that no matter how hard I tried to forget, I still couldn't bring myself to discard.

They were hidden in the back of a closet, in a black garbage bag that smelled just faintly like smoke.

The jacket was first, worn leather cracking as it unfolded from its confinement.  The grey sweatshirt was inside, reeking of soot and sweat but bringing a faint smile to my face as I thought how it had seen me successfully through an escape before and it would be comforting to wear it again now.

I pulled both on over my current clothes, the jeans and white tank top I'd also stashed in the bag disappearing back into the closet.  They were representative of the past, sure, but the expensively tailored jeans I wore today bore drips of blood where Oliver's teeth had slashed my knuckles and the pocket of my shirt was barely hanging on by a few stitches, the pathetic result of his attempt to fight back.  They weren't the typical uniform I'd worn on my last flight but they had the markings of one who didn't belong and I knew Kirsten would never find another use for them anyway.

Grabbing my wallet from the bedside table, I took the cash and ID card from inside, leaving the credit card they'd forced me to carry 'in case of emergencies' and the wallet itself behind.  The watch that was a gift from them also flew off my hand, clattering to the table so loudly that I actually looked up to see if they heard the disturbance.

Of course they didn't, their shadows were calmer now, probably sitting at the table eating dinner, discussing, or maybe even not, what to do with the delinquent living in their back yard.

Well I was going to make it easy for them, in five more minutes there wouldn't be anything left to discuss.

I left everything I owned as it was, my book bag crumpled on the floor, my CDs piled in neat stacks against the stereo, new sneakers I hadn't worn yet waiting for a Saturday morning trip to the boardwalk.  They all sat so perfectly at attention as if just waiting for someone to inhabit this place and give them purpose.  I sincerely hoped they'd find some useful charity to donate everything too and as I stepped toward the door and my new life with unknown direction, I prayed that it was never me who stumbled across the items at Goodwill.

Pulling the sweatshirt and jacket combo on over blood-stained fists, I took one last look around the unlit room, the darkness taunting me with its victory.  Blinking, I turned and opened the door, pulling it soundlessly shut behind me.  I hurried down the steps, intent only on making it around the house and down the driveway without being seen.  Then there was a sound and whatever momentum I had built was halted by the softest voice.

"Going somewhere?"

My heart forgot that it was supposed to keep beating, stilling in my chest as my lungs screamed for oxygen and I realized I'd also forgotten how to breathe.  Turning, a cold sweat surfaced on my skin, the resulting chill sending a shiver through my body.  My hands sought refuge at my hips, thumbs catching on my pockets as fingers I never knew possessed such strength gripped the denim in tight fists.

I swear it was the force of their pull alone that kept me standing.

I couldn't bring myself to meet the penetrating gaze, couldn't even tear my eyes away from the one stray weed that somehow fought its way through the thick tiled slate flooring.

"Will you sit?"

I listened to the voice, heard its soft tones and choice, almost pleading lilt.  It was Kirsten, sitting in the shadow of the house, her feet outstretched on a lawn chair, a book half-tipped out of her hands.  Her words sounded like a request, as if I still deserved any choice in the direction my life took next.

I could only shrug, the weed's battle far more interesting than what I'd find if I dared to meet her eyes.

"Ryan."

Her voice shook and against my better judgment I found myself wanting to protect her, tell her that she didn't have to be afraid of me.

"I was just…" I gestured lamely towards the side of the house, pointing out my escape route.

"Just leaving, I know."  There was no malice in her statement, just the sound of a chair being pushed outwards punctuating her words.  "Sit, please?"

I shuffled towards her, one hand escaping its safety for a quick moment to pull the chair she offered further away.  I tucked my thumb securely back in my pocket before I sat.  It was always easier to contain my emotions if I didn't use my hands.

I slouched low in the seat, an island onto myself.  I wanted nothing more than to just bolt from the deck, from the house, from Newport.  Instead I stayed seated, my eyes darting from object to object, categorizing my best chance of escape.  She watched me, closely, I saw this when I mistakenly let my eyes leave the back door and flit across her face.  She appeared unthreatening, but my breathing refused to calm, my hands scrunching my jeans back into tight gatherings as I waited for her to pass judgment.

"Your hand, it's bleeding."

My eyes widened as she seized on that as the opportunity to get closer.  I shot her a warning glance to stay away as I buried my knuckles, burning, against my legs.

She half rose from her chair, her book dropping to the table before she caught my eye and faltered.  I watched as she sunk back unsurely, waiting for the satisfied feeling to surge through my body, but it didn't.  I tried to decipher why when she spoke again.

"Something happened at school."

A statement, no response required.  I returned my stare to the ground.

"Tell me?"

My breath hitched as I inhaled, the action sending a shudder through my body as I coughed.  She stared at me, waiting for a response and I was filled with the cold need to disappoint her.  I could tell instantly she still held out hope that I wouldn't be trouble.  She was wrong.

"I got in a fight."  I shrugged as I forced the words from my mouth.

"With Oliver?"

"Don't you already know this?"  My voice was harder than I intended but I could feel the press of rage clouding my vision.  I was looking into Oliver's smug face all over again and my hand flexed into a tighter fist as the memory of making him bleed returned in full force.

Her eyes dropped to her lap and I saw her hands twist as she processed my answer.

I knew then that I'd disappointed her.

Suddenly I wanted to apologize.

"Kir…"

"Ry…"

We both stopped and stared, fully, into each other's eyes for the first time since I sat.  She gestured with her head for me to continue but I shrunk back.

"You," I muttered.

She obliged, surprisingly, and took a deep breath.  "Dr. Kim _did_ call, Sandy spoke with her.  But I don't know what happened.  I…_we thought you should have the chance to tell us yourself."_

"You expect me to believe Seth didn't rant about this for the past hour?"

Kirsten smiled.  "No, he ranted, or tried.  I told him he could wait in his room or be quiet."

"He still in his room?"

She laughed softly.  "Yeah."

The flicker of a smile vibrated through my lips and I pressed them tighter together before she could see.

She sighed as she shifted on her chair, edging closer towards the footrest and me six feet away.  I stiffened for a moment, then saw that she had no intention, yet at least, of coming further and relaxed.  My hands left my pockets and wrapped against my chest, tattered scraps of skin catching against the rough leather.

"So you fought, with Oliver."  The tone of her voice made it obvious that I was to continue.

"What do you want me to say?  He pissed me off, I hit him."

"Ryan…"

"What?"  My eyes challenged hers.

"I know there's more to it than that, there _has been all week."_

"Oliver wanted Marissa, he got her.  Then he came around gloating.  Look…"  I pulled my arms tighter to me and tipped my feet as if to stand.  "Can we just do this already and get it over with?"

"Do…"

"Me, leaving.  I'm going to be suspended, Dr. Kim as much as promised me, and if I am, that means probation troubles.  You said no more trouble."

"Ryan…"

"Don't.  Don't say that I'm part of this house and that I'd wish you would've kicked me out.  I already wish it, okay?"

"Listen to me."  She moved forward on her chair again, hands clasped tightly in front of her.  "No one is leaving.  You aren't just part of this house, this house is nothing, you are part of our family."

"Don't say that about your family."

"Ryan," her voice was stern as she moved to stand, stopping when I bounded up before her.  The chair fell over behind me, its clatter shattering the tension.

Her voice echoed in my ears.  It was as hard as my mother's had ever been.  My fingers dug into the stiff material of my jacket, squeezing until they ached from the effort.  She was still sitting there, half-perched on her chair, looking ready to come to me at any moment.  My eyes flicked to the side of the house and my only means of escape.

"Ryan," her voice was just a whisper yet it carried her pain eloquently.

I bit my lip as she pushed herself up off her chair.

Cautiously she moved across the deck toward me.  For every two steps she made, I took one backwards.  My chest was already tight with suppressed sobs, my brain racing as I tried to think of a different escape method.  Up to the pool maybe, across the other side and over the fence to the Coopers.  I backed up until my heels hit the bottom stair and stopped.

And she kept coming.  Her hands were at her sides, her steps steady as she advanced.  Her eyes shone with unspent tears.

"Ryan, I…"

"Don't."  My voice was hoarse and I swallowed thickly to regain some sense of control.

"Just listen to me, please?"

Her hand rose slowly to hover above my arm, her touch feather-light as she rested on my sleeve.  I stared at her nails, perfectly polished, remembering all the other times a set of sharpened fingernails had made contact with my arm.  It was usually on the downswing of a slap to the face, or perhaps the purposeful digging of a clutching grip.  I blinked as I tried to focus on the present instead.

"I am not your mother, I know that.  But there's something I want you to realize," she paused, her fingers pressing gently on my arm until my eyes sprung up to meet hers.  She smiled as she murmured her request.  "I am not your mother."

I didn't have a prayer of surviving that one.  A choked sob forced its way past my lips, my eyes slamming shut against the sudden rush of wetness.  I sensed rather than felt her hand slide up to my shoulder, the other doing the same until I was pulled forward into her embrace.

My arms were caught between us and I was glad that I didn't have to return the gesture.  My shoulders shook as I let the feel of her comforting me just sink in.  It was soft, gentle, and I wanted to stay there so badly.

But I couldn't.  I pulled away and wiped furiously at my damp cheeks.  Avoiding her eyes, I focused instead on the blood now smeared across my hand from my tears.  I had learned early that you never showed your emotions, especially not tears.  Tears were worthy of a double fisted beating.

I bowed my head away from her until I felt the soft tug of her finger on my chin and slowly brought my eyes back up to hers.

"I'm s…"  I stumbled over my words as she just stood there, hand back on my arm, staring at me.  "I'm sorry."

She shook her head quickly.  "No, no sorry."  She stopped and smiled warmly.  "Well maybe a little hitting Oliver sorry, but no other sorry."

My eyes squinted as I tried to understand how I could still be in trouble for one thing, yet not be punished so bad I no longer had a place to live.

"That's how it works around here."  She shrugged as she stepped back and shivered in the cooling air.  "You do something wrong, you apologize.  You mess up, you fix it.  This is a big one, you probably _will be suspended, but we'll deal with it."_

I shook my head and took one final wipe at my cheeks.  "So, I'm not in trouble."

She laughed and moved to place her arm behind my back.  "Oh no, you're grounded for a month.  And that's on top of whatever Dr. Kim doles out."

I groaned as I moved forward, letting her guiding hand lead me towards the house.  Her hand was on the doorknob when I stopped.

"Uh, Kirsten."

She turned expectantly, smiling even as her eyes took on a worried look again.

"I uh… I was wondering if you could do something for me."  I tipped my shoulders back, shrugging as the jacket and sweatshirt fell away from my torn shirt.  Pulling it gingerly over my hands, I balled it awkwardly in my fists and pushed it towards her.  "Could you, you think you could get rid of this?"

Her smile grew as she reached out to accept my offering.  "Are you sure you don't want it anymore?"

I stared at the leather and fleece combination.  It had once been the nicest thing I owned, a hand-me-down knock-off picked up in a clothing drive bin, but still, the best clothing Ryan Atwood had ever worn.

I shook my head as I released it fully into her hold.  "No.  No I… I think I'll stick with what I've got here."

I thought her smile would split her face as she nodded, blinked back tears, and turned finally to open the door.

Light spilled from the doorway, cutting the darkness up into harmless fragments.  I hesitated as I watched Sandy and Seth turn from their twin mugs of coffee, two pairs of warm brown eyes crinkling in relief.  Kirsten glanced back as she stepped inside, one hand snaking toward me.

They were golden, glowing, three people that had become more of a family to me than my own had ever been.  I smiled, just faintly, and followed her inside, closing the door on the darkness.


End file.
